


Married at First Sight

by TheLonelySheWolf



Category: X-Men (Alternate Timeline Movies), X-Men - All Media Types
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Arranged Marriage, Charles Xavier has a Ph.D in Adorable, Erik is Crushing Harder than a 12-year Old Girl, Erik's mother is alive and adorable, Genosha setting, Hand Jobs, Interviews, M/M, Marriage, Oral Sex, Photo edits, reality tv show
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-13
Updated: 2017-08-16
Packaged: 2018-09-24 01:46:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 12,789
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9694397
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheLonelySheWolf/pseuds/TheLonelySheWolf
Summary: This is quite possibly the most ridiculous thing Charles has ever done. He's getting married tomorrow. To a man whose name he doesn’t know, whose thoughts he’s never shared, to a man he’snever met.[Genosha’s most controversial social experiment is about to get a whole lot bigger. ]





	1. First Sight

**Author's Note:**

> So, this is essentially based on the tv show Married at First Sight. It's such a suck in, and I thought "how fun would this be to turn into a Cherik fic?" So here it is. Photo edits are currently all done by me, will involve interviews and little bits that are generally used in the show, just to tie it back (and because edits are fun!) Also, it's 12:05 am, so Happy Valentine's day! (Cherik is my Valentine, obviously).

[ ](http://tinypic.com?ref=2a5hkwh)

 

Charles' palms are sweating, his stomach twisting and curling in a way that's half excitement, half genuine nausea. He  _may_ have had too many glasses of scotch last night. And of course, there was the beer before that. Maybe a couple of cocktails too. But what else does one do on their buck’s night? It was, after all, his last night of freedom before marrying a man he’d _never met._

It had been Raven’s idea. A horrible, _terrible_  idea. A social experiment, that used science to pair singles, throwing them together at the altar and broadcasting it for the whole of Genosha to see. Raven had submitted an application to the show, and Charles had followed the necessary procedures that followed; attraction tests, questionnaires—all the data needed to find his ‘perfect match’. The scientist in him loved the idea of it, of using psychology and statistics to determine the compatibility between two people. But he never expected to make it onto the show. There had been  _thousands_ of applicants, and only four couples would be selected. The odds hadn’t exactly been in his favor.

Nonetheless, here he is, having his hair and makeup done while his sister babbles at him from the next seat over, already looking immaculate; a perk of her mutation. She's in her favourite blonde form today, wrapped up in a sapphire colored dress that she seems to think ‘ _brings out his eyes’_. More so, it matches the dark suit and tie she helped him pick out two weeks ago.

“I wonder what he looks like, Charles,” Raven ponders, checking her appearance once again in the mirror. “Will he be taller than you? Blonde, brunette, tan, pale,  _blue_?” Being a  _Genoshan_ show, mutants are a commonality rather than the exception. Being the type of show that it is, however, he doubts any ‘unattractive’ mutations will be a feature.

“Why am I doing this, Raven?” Charles murmurs, staring off out the window, towards the beach where his groom will soon be waiting. They’ll be exchanging their vows in the gardens that overlook the beach, atop a small cliff. It's the perfect day for it, a gentle breeze rustling the leaves of the trees outside. Mild temperatures are predicted, so Charles won't sweat too much in his suit. Small blessings he supposes, all things considered.

“Because you’re thirty, your pick-up lines are awful, and you’re too busy sticking your head in a book to go out and meet anyone that isn’t a student.”

There's more to it than that. Charles  _had_ managed to meet a few people, had even maintained relationships with them, but it had always fallen flat. Moira, while lovely, had been just as busy as Charles, meaning they’d hardly had the time to build a solid connection. They’ve remained friends, but the spark between them had died before it could flourish.

Lilandra and Gabrielle had lasted an even shorter amount of time, and a number of factors had attributed to the inevitable break ups that had followed. Most, Charles thinks, came through the clashing of their personalities and just general incompatibility between them. It was unfortunate, but by no means a tragedy.

Three years have passed since then. And while Charles has managed to pick up the occasional one-night stand (though even those are less frequent these days), he’s begun to accept that perhaps he's destined to live out his days as a lonely old man surrounded by children that aren’t his own. He’s come to realize that he can live with that, but now, he's rather hopeful for the opposite.

“The car’s here,” an assistant tells them. Charles gives the man a small nod, ignoring the camera crew clustering around them, and turns to Raven. She's beaming at him, her excitement so strong that he can feel it even through the shields he's enforced specially for today. He doesn't need to deal with the distraction of other people's emotions and first judgements. He wants to enjoy today, without the shortcuts. 

“Are you ready?” she asks, standing up and offering her arm. Following her lead, he accepts it, shrugging at her once he's upright.

“No, but let’s go.”

The cameras trail them outside, where a stretch limousine is waiting. An assistant opens the rear door, and Charles clambers in, Raven close behind. Another cameraman is already waiting in the car. Charles ignores him, already familiar with the lack of privacy. He supposes it's karmic in a way—as a telepath, he can’t exactly complain about it, given how little privacy he affords most people in his daily interactions.

As they pull away from the curb, Raven immediately attacks the bottle of champagne set out for them. Charles is grateful for the alcohol, even in spite of his lingering hangover. He predicts a great deal of drinking is sure to follow at the reception, so he doubts a head start will do much damage.

“How are you feeling?” Raven asks him, holding his free hand, his other one still wrapped tightly around her glass.

“Like I’m going to throw up,” he admits. “I can’t believe I agreed to this.”

Raven laughs, giving his hand a squeeze. “No backing out on me now.”

“Of course not,” he says indignantly. Somehow, Raven has always managed to get her way. Charles knows he’s spoilt her somewhat over the years, trying to fill the void left behind by a lack of solid parenting. It seems that even Charles’ wedding won’t be an exception to the tradition.

Far,  _far_ too soon, the limousine comes to a stop. Charles can see the crowd already seated in neat rows, set out on the stretch of manicured lawn. He can't yet see the beach from here, blocked from view as it is by the dense flora of the gardens. The surrounding area has been cordoned off for the secrecy of the show, and there are camera crews  _everywhere._ Somehow, they manage not to seem overly invasive, considering.

Charles is too far away to see much in detail, but that is almost  _certainly_ the groom standing up by the arch of blossoms.

“I can’t do this, Raven,” Charles starts, his heart threatening to burst from his chest and flee down the road. He feels absolutely  _overwhelmed_ , the champagne having done nothing to settle his nerves.

“Yes, you can,” she says firmly, her mouth set in a determined line. “If anyone can do this, Charles, it’s you.”

He takes a few deep breaths and nods, pointedly not looking over her shoulder at the waiting crowd and groom. “Okay, let’s get this over with,” he says, ignoring the way his hands have started to shake.

Raven rolls her eyes—at his attitude no doubt—and opens the door, pulling him along with her. Ordinarily, she would have gone down the aisle first by herself, and Charles would have followed with his mother or father, but with no one left to fill the role, Raven had volunteered to act as a bridesmaid  _and_ give him away. This is certainly an unconventional wedding in every way possible.

He's glad to have Raven’s arm tightly interlocked in his own, otherwise he fears his legs may give out beneath him. Heads among the crowd turn at their approach, some familiar, others curious, and he returns the smiles some of his friends give from the left side of the aisle, though its likely to resemble more of a grimace.

He meets the eyes of a few of those seated to his right, the groom’s guests, their eyes raking over him critically, though a few smile at him. At the front he spots a small woman with brown hair, her eyes already shining with tears as she beams at him. The groom’s mother, undoubtedly. His immediate fondness for her is startling, but it allows him to return her smile with a proper one in turn. He doesn't need to touch his telepathy to know just how _overjoyed_ she is at the entire arrangement. If nothing else comes out of this odd occasion, her tears would certainly linger with Charles for a long time to come.

Finally, he looks over at the groom. Charles' steps falter, and once again, he's glad to have Raven at his side as a tower of strength. He's sure his heart has already stopped, and the urge to reach out with his mind in almost unbearable, though he keeps it tightly under wraps, unsure if the intrusion would be welcome.

The groom is grinning at him, looking sharp in a grey suit— _my god he has a lot of teeth—_ and Charles can see something of the man’s mother in him, in that untampered joy that seems to seep through, as though lit from within by a thousand suns. He's absolutely  _stunning._

For what he hopes is the last time—at least for today—Charles is glad to have Raven beside him, otherwise he isn’t sure he would have made it to the altar. She steers him over to it, giving Charles a final pat on the hand and a kiss to his cheek, before going over to sit in the front row by herself.

Charles and his groom stare at each other for a long moment, the crowd remaining in a stunned silence—or perhaps Charles has just lost his hearing for the moment—as he drinks in the unusual color of his eyes, bright and clear like the gentle waters lapping at the shore, hundreds of feet below, beyond the edge of the cliff. Charles supposes he can always take the leap if he makes a fool of himself on national television. Though Raven would be liable to jump after him. Pity.

The groom's expression has settled, less of a supernova and more like a gentle sunset now, though he's still staring at Charles with a certain intensity, as if devouring his image. At the moment, Charles still considers himself the luckier party of this arrangement.

“I’m Erik,” he says, offering his hand, not for a handshake, Charles realizes, but just to hold. And just like that, all of Charles’ anxiety seems to fall away, replaced with an acute excitement.

“Charles,” he returns, taking it. Erik’s hand is large and warm, roughened by work, his grip firm, only hinting at his potential strength. He looks ordinary, human, but even without glancing at his mind, Charles has no doubt this man is a mutant, his very aura seeming to radiate power.

They remain hand-in-hand as they take each other in, Charles observing his broad shoulders and narrow waist, gauging the height difference and noticing that his hair and afternoon stubble have a coppery sheen to it. Erik has a small scar on his upper lip; Charles finds the flaw rather endearing on this otherwise seemingly perfect man.

They're supposed to be saying something now, making small talk in the couple of minutes they're allowed before the ceremony starts, but Charles can’t think of anything to say that won’t risk breaking the spell that’s fallen over them both. Before Charles can gather his wits, the celebrant starts speaking.

The woman, short and beginning to show signs of gray, begins with, “We’ve gathered here today to witness these two people commit to each other, just as they have committed themselves to finding love.” Charles lets her words wash over him, talking about the promise they’d made to give this arrangement their utmost devotion and patience. Meanwhile, warmth is still bleeding into his hand from Erik’s, and he can feel the weight of his stare, though Charles is keeping his eyes trained on their interlocked hands.

“Your vows,” the celebrant prompts, and Charles watches Erik pull out a small slip of paper from his pocket with his free hand. Charles lifts his eyes then, watching Erik as he begins to speak.

“I see these vows today not as promises, but as privileges. I promise to laugh with you, support you, and always hold you in the highest regard. I promise to give this venture my all, knowing that I’ll be sharing it with someone who has the same end goal in mind. I hope that through this, we can both find our equals in one another.” Erik has a lovely accent, difficult to place, but pleasant to listen to.

Charles can feel himself smiling, and the urge to reach into Erik’s mind is stronger than ever. Without looking, he can already tell that Erik bears an iron will—certainly, he'll be a rock for Charles, whose own emotions tend to come crashing down in waves.  

Charles has his memorized already, courtesy of his mutation, so he doesn’t need to produce any paper. “I come to you today, with an open mind and a hopeful heart. I make a commitment to respect you, to admire you, to encourage, and inspire you. This is our next chapter, and I will proudly stand beside you as we go on this journey together to find love.”

There are lots of sighs and and gentle murmurs from the watching audience, but Charles is looking at Erik now, warmth spreading up to his cheeks and ears as his soon-to-be-husband looks at him with a gentle fondness that makes Charles want to  _melt._ Erik is smiling again, although there's a great deal less teeth this time.

Erik’s mother is quietly sobbing in the front row.

The celebrant guides them through the last of the ceremony, which is followed with the more typical “I do,” from them both—there’s still something conventional to all of this, at least—and then finishes with “You may now kiss your husband,” and Charles feels a burst of emotion—possibly not his own, even with his shields—as Erik lifts his free hand to cup Charles’ neck, leaning in to press their lips together.

It’s gentle and sweet, a tentative first meeting, and Charles wishes more than anything that he could share this with Erik in their minds.  _Soon_ , he tells himself, hoping that many more kisses are yet to come, allowing himself to enjoy the unhurried movements of their mouths pressed together. Erik’s thumb gently strokes his jaw as their hands remained entwined.

There’s a great deal of clapping and wolf-whistles—Sean’s is the loudest, as always—but Charles keeps his eyes locked on Erik as they pull away. Already, he wants to kiss him again. The chemistry and attraction he feels toward Erik is astounding, like being pulled toward a giant magnet.

“Shall we?” Erik asks, tilting his head towards the aisle. Charles gives him a smile and a nod, and Erik pulls him along by the hand. Raven is beaming at him from the front row, her cheeks wet, and she isn’t alone in that regard. Charles is overwhelmed by the love and joy around him, from his friends and family, and from himself too, filled with more hope and excitement than he could have ever expected from this.

 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

 

“So, what do you do for a living?” Erik asks him, as they move into the next position.

They’d moved to another part of the beachside gardens for their photoshoot, and are now pressed up against each other, Erik’s arm firmly around his waist while Charles has a hand resting on Erik’s chest. The photographer, a man with rather unusual hair, is guiding them into different poses. What would ordinarily be a rather romantic moment, feels more like a comedy setup to Charles. It’s good, he supposes. At least they’ll be smiling in the final shots.

“I’m a professor, I teach genetics at the university,” Charles tells him, as they look at each other ‘soulfully’, following the photographer’s instructions. He does his best not to snicker at the wording, instead studying the unusual color of Erik’s eyes. They’re somewhere between green and blue, seeming almost pale in the strong daylight.

“Oh, you must be very intelligent then,” Erik observes.

Charles shrugs, dismissive. “What about you? What do you do?”

“I do a range of different work, some in architecture, some in engineering. I started off as a builder, did some studying, eventually got my degree and started working on bigger projects, focusing more on design and detail. My mutation allows me to control metal.”

“Oh, I can see how that would be beneficial to your work. Do you have a genuine interest in metal, or does your mutation simply make it convenient?”

They have to switch poses then, Erik hugging him from behind. It’s certainly one of the more pleasant positions they’ve tried.

“I have a genuine love for metals,” Erik tells him, his voice quiet next to Charles’ ear. He wonders if the camera crew will be able to pick up on the softly-spoken words. “I have a sense and feel for the different types, each one lets out a different … frequency, you could say. It’s like listening to a melody when shaping and molding them together.”

“It sounds lovely.”

“It is. Do you have a mutation?” Erik asks.

Charles’ stomach drops. This is the moment he’d been dreading. His partners have always responded negatively to his telepathy, and in some cases, he hadn’t bothered to mention it at all, choosing to keep his shields up tightly instead. Keeping it a secret was possibly one of the hardest things he’d ever done, and he was sure the pressure had led to the eventual collapse of his major relationships. He’d already come to expect that telling his new husband would be difficult at best, and he _still_ doesn’t know how best to approach it.

“My intelligence, perhaps, if having a large brain could be counted as a mutation,” he jokes, attempting to laugh it off. “As an academic, I actually specialize in mutations. Did you know, that even humans have different mutations? It’s the X gene that of course makes up what is legally recognized as a ‘mutant’, but certain eye colors and shades of hair are all a result of mutation.” And he keeps talking, hoping to distract Erik from the question. It seems to work, for the main part. Erik is clearly very interested about mutants, and so Charles delves straight into the heart of his studies. It turns out that Erik is also an excellent listener.

Charles finally stops talking when the photographer asks them to hold a kissing pose. Fortunately, it seems that Erik is far more preoccupied by the kiss, and Charles is suddenly armed with a _far_ better distraction method.

 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

 

“Ladies and gentlemen, please give a round of applause for the newlyweds, Erik and Charles!” A chorus of cheers and clapping follows as Erik and Charles enter the reception. It’s one of the finer restaurants along the coast, with uninterrupted views of the white sand and gentle waters beyond. Blue and white flowers are being used for table centerpieces, with matching blue bows to break up the white tablecloths and chair covers.

Charles has to admit it’s a rather spectacular set-up, with fairy lights tastefully spread across the ceiling, almost like real stars. The sun has started to descend toward the ocean, the skies softening as they deepen toward a richer array of colors.

Erik’s hand is warm around his own as they head to the bridal table. Raven and Jean are waiting on one side of the table, while what seems to be Erik’s bridesmaid and groomsmen wait on the other, giving them a clear indication of the seating.

“How was the photoshoot?” Raven asks him as he sinks into the chair beside hers.

“Interesting,” is all Charles could say, giving her a small smile. She gives him a small pat on the arm before plucking her glass up from the table. Charles notices his own is fretfully still empty; something that needs to be remedied as soon as possible.

“So, which of the guests are your family?” Charles asks Erik as they start on the entrée. His glass has been filled, at last, and is almost empty once again. He’ll slow down soon, knowing he’ll surely need to keep his wits about him. It’s merely to keep the edge off this rather bizarre—and nerve-wracking—evening.

“At the table in front, is my mother, Edie. Beside her is my aunt and uncle…” Erik proceeds to point them out to Charles, giving him a very efficient background on how they’re related, or what Erik’s connection is to them. Charles could have plucked the information from their minds, but it’s much,  _much_ nicer to listen to Erik speak instead.

“And this, is Emma,” Erik finishes, as his blonde bridesmaid joins them, hovering behind their chairs. She’s dressed in white, which should have somehow been insulting to the occasion, but neither Erik nor Charles are dressed in the same, so it doesn’t seem to matter. She certainly looks exquisite enough in the dress, and Charles is happy to politely shake her hand. He once again keeps his telepathy locked up tightly, resisting the urge to explore a new mind.

“We grew up together, she’s as close to a sister as I’ll ever have,” Erik explains.

“It’s lovely to meet you,” Charles tells her, giving her a smile.

She eyes him thoughtfully, but not unkindly. More as though she’s assessing him. Charles supposes it’s simply the sisterly thing to do. No doubt Raven will be doing the same to Erik when she returns from Hank’s table.

“You seem to be quite the mystery, Charles. I can’t tell what kind of man you are, or if you’ll be good for Erik, but I hope you’ll be kind to him, regardless.”

No threats of bodily harm are made should Charles step out of line, but there’s a sharp edge to Emma that tells him he should expect as much should things go pear-shaped. He fully intends to respect Erik, however, so he isn’t overly concerned. She seems like a reasonable woman, at least.  

“I’m surprised you haven’t already given me a full profile, Emma,” Erik tells her, amusement shaping his mouth. “People  _are_  your specialty.” Charles hears a silent joke of sorts pass between them, though he isn’t sure what to make of it.

Emma smirks at Erik. “You know me too well, sugar. But seems how your husband here is a telepath, it’s considerably harder to take a peek without him knowing.”

So much for breaking it to Erik  _gently_.

Worse still, his glass is empty.

 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

 

A/N: Also guys, I found THIS! I'd already written the chapter when I found this pic, and THEY'RE LITERALLY WEARING THEIR MARRIAGE SUITS. See, it's cannon. =') 

 

[ ](http://tinypic.com?ref=2sbkfv6)


	2. The Reception

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the feedback guys! I planned to update this sooner, but with graduation and Honours assignments I've been too busy to really get in a few good writing sessions. Next update will be for 'Blue Jeans', but I should have more of this up soon hopefully! (Also, apologies for typos, fixing them later when I'm more awake!)

Charles is shivering, the light suit jacket doing little to protect him from the cold air blowing in off the ocean. He’ll admit that it could also be a sign of nerves. Erik is walking beside him, hands shoved into his pockets as they pick their way along the lawn at the edge of the beach. Like Charles, he seems to be ignoring the camera crew trailing along behind them.

The sun has long since set, so Erik is just a dark blur of color, lit only by the distant light cast by the reception. He’s dying to skim through Erik’s thoughts, but Charles can’t think of a worse idea in light of the situation. It’s likely, given his friendship with Emma Frost, that Erik has defenses against telepaths, and Charles isn’t game enough to risk it and be caught out.  

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Erik asks, finally. Charles doesn’t know where to start.

After Emma had revealed Charles’ mutation, Erik had been quiet for a long time, withdrawing into himself. Charles had almost been surprised when he’d eventually suggested they _go for a walk outside,_ which had immediately been followed by a weighty dread. The feeling is still very much present.

Charles considers his answer carefully, slowing to a stop. He takes a deep breath, inhaling the strong scent of sea and salt, letting it out in a shaky sigh. “In the past, my mutation hasn’t been well received. In my personal relationships, particularly. Dating mutants didn’t help matters much either; telepathy is still met with suspicion and resentment, even among those that are similarly gifted. I’ll admit that I was trying to approach the issue with caution. I planned to tell you; it was just a matter of deciding how best to approach it.”

Erik remains quiet, hands still in his pockets. The alcohol in Charles’ stomach churns unpleasantly. He takes a few deep breaths to steady it, ignoring the tremor in his hands. His heart is in his throat, pulsing a staccato rhythm against the underside of his skin.

“Have you been in my mind?” Erik asks, finally.

As shaky as Charles feels, his answer still comes out firm. “No.”

Erik’s smudgy silhouette nods. “I’d appreciate it if you could keep it that way.”

Charles swallows, finding his mouth dry. While it’s a milder response than he’d originally anticipated, disappointment still settles over him like a heavy blanket. “Very well, I’ll stay out unless you tell me otherwise.” Already, Erik is beginning to feel like less of a person to Charles. Without the touch of a mind to guide him to familiarity, Charles feels blind, robbed of one of his most crucial senses.  

Erik nods, seeming to accept this, before resuming their walk, starting the journey back to the reception, ignoring the camera crew as they pass them. Charles doesn’t make an attempt at conversation, feeling distinctly unsettled by the exchange. The earlier warmth between them is gone, Erik seeming to retreat back into himself. Charles doesn’t know how to remedy the awkward tension, seemingly crippled without the guidance of his telepathy to gauge Erik’s expectations. Not for the first time, he regrets how much he’s come to depend upon it. But his telepathy is as much a part of him as his sense of smell. He only wishes (definitely also not for the first time) that others could understand that, rather than remaining blinded by their fear of his abilities.

“Everything okay?” Raven asks as he slides back into his seat. He nods at her, reaching immediately for his glass.

 _Erik told me not to use my telepathy around him. Not even for surface thoughts,_ he tells her. She shows no outward reaction, but he feels the pity swirling up in her mind.

 _He’ll come around, surely,_ she tells him. _I did._

Charles remembers only too well how much Raven had cringed away from his mutation. It had taken her years to fully accept and embrace it. Until then, she’d felt hollow to him, and they’d bickered constantly. He would always be grateful that Raven had decided to accept him, just a he had in turn accepted her natural form, his earlier hesitance something he would always regret. Moving to Genosha had helped them both immensely, forcing them to open their minds as they became immersed in a diverse culture that encompassed almost every mutation imaginable.

 _Even without the use of my telepathy, Erik still doesn’t strike me as the fluid type. I’d have better luck convincing a rock,_ Charles grumbles, watching Sean and Alex have an animated discussion a few tables over.

_Never say never, Charles. I was stubborn too._

He sends a wave of agreement; to which she elbows him good-naturedly.

 _What are you going to do?_ she asks him.

_I have no idea. Erik’s pulling away from me already._

_So? Seduce him the human way._

_We_ are _human, Raven._

He feels her internalized eye roll. _Yes, Professor,_ sarcasm clear even in thoughts. _Talk to him, people are getting suspicious._

She’s right, he can see some of Erik’s friends glancing at them speculatively. He can only imagine what commentary the ‘experts’ are giving at the moment, watching them from their computer screens.

“I’d like to properly meet your mother,” Charles says abruptly, turning to Erik, who raises his eyebrows in response.

“Why mine first? What about yours?”

“My mother died five years ago. Unless you’d like to take a quick trip back to Westchester, I’d very much like to go see your mother.” That’s almost certainly the alcohol talking now. Raven, eavesdropping as she is, sends him a mental shove to pull himself together.

Erik studies him for a moment, face impassive, as though making some deep judgement that Charles can only hope to guess at. He nods, rising to his feet, and Charles follows him over to the table opposite.

“Mama,” Erik starts, stopping beside her chair. “I’d like to introduce you to Charles. Charles, this is Edie.”

Edie leaps to her feet and throws her arms around Charles. “I’m so happy Erik found someone, I thought I’d be halfway into the grave before he brought home someone for me to meet!” She pulls back to look at him, her hands resting on his upper arms. “ _Meine Güte_ _,_ and such a handsome young man too!”

Charles flushes at her attention, giving her a warm smile. While Erik wasn’t technically bringing him ‘home’ to meet her as such, he thought it best to let it slide, especially in light of her enthusiasm. “It’s lovey to meet you, Edie.” And he means it. He dares not touch her mind, especially with both Erik and Emma still nearby, but she’s projecting such strong warmth and joy that he can’t help but feel it wrap around him anyway.

“Come, sit with me!” Edie tells him, pulling him to a chair. The table, however, is full. “ _Sei ein Lieber und geh mit deiner Tante_ ,” she tells a young girl, who smiles at them and nods. Charles is then ushered into the hastily vacated seat, Edie dropping back into her own chair beside him. Erik is left to hover behind them, a quiet presence Charles is still faintly aware of, even while Edie chatters away at him happily. A few people stop to talk to Erik, mostly just passing comments and congratulations.

Edie asks him about his work, his family, what he plans for his future, all of which he’s happy to discuss. Erik waits patiently, Charles aware of him even as he points out his sister to Edie. Eventually, his conversation with her takes a more pointed turn.

“So, what do you think of my Erik?” she asks, leaning into him as though swapping conspiracies.

Charles isn’t really sure what to say to that. “Well, I can’t say I’ve had much of a chance to get to know him,” he starts, but Edie waves him away.

“Of course, you’ve only just met him. No, I mean, do you think him _handsome?_ After all, attraction make it more than a friendship.”

“Mama!” Erik protests behind them. “Leave Charles be.”

But Charles can’t help himself. “Why yes, Edie.” He looks at Erik pointedly, a small smirk on his lips. “Your son _is_ rather handsome _._ I can hardly believe he hasn’t brought home someone to meet you already.”

There’s the slightest lift to Erik’s lips, which Charles takes as amusement. He can see already how this relationship will be a challenge. With Erik seeming the reserved type, and without his telepathy to help, Charles is going to be left to guess his moods. The _human way,_ as Raven had put it.

“That’s because he’s a right grouch,” Edie tells him, patting his knee as if in apology. “A pretty face will only get you so far. I keep telling him to smile more, but he might as well be a rock for all that he listens.”

Erik shifts beside them, but he’s looking away when Charles risks a glance at him. Charles smiles at Edie.

“I’m sure the experts know what they’re doing.” It’s the only encouragement he can offer her, and also himself. With such a rocky start to the arrangement, Charles isn’t sure how it’ll go from here.

“They must, to have found such a lovely man as you,” Edie says, patting his cheek. “If things don’t work out, you can always try your luck with me.”

“ _Mama!”_ Erik starts, stepping closer. Charles can’t help but laugh with her. “Stop scandalizing Charles.”

“It’s quite alright, Erik,” Charles reassures him. “But I think we’d best head back to our table. I think they want to start the next part of the evening.”

Sure enough, one of the assistants is heading over, so Charles says his goodbyes to Edie, giving her a peck on the back of her hand, before following Erik back to the main table.

“She seems fond of you,” Erik comments as they head back to their seats, and Charles isn’t quite sure if Erik means it as a compliment or not.

“She’s a lovely woman.” Charles would have loved a mother like her, all warmth and love and laughter. He envies Erik in that, a little. Though if Charles is especially lucky, he may yet be able to experience some of it for himself.

They’re given a few minutes to refresh themselves with more drinks, before being instructed to head over for the cutting of the cake. Charles almost starts when he feels Erik’s hand press against the small of his back, guiding him, but he recovers quickly, giving Erik a curious glance instead. Perhaps things aren’t quite as bad as Charles had feared.

There’s plenty of cheering and flashing cameras as they pick up the knife together, slotting it into the cake and pushing it down. Erik’s hand is wrapped tightly around his, warmth bleeding into Charles’ skin.

A slice is cut for them, and Charles, beyond tipsy already, thinks it’d be a wonderful idea to feed Erik some of it by hand.

It turns into more of a mess of anything, with the crowd laughing at his attempt. Erik accepts it with surprisingly good grace, his eyes trained on Charles as he smirks around a mouthful of cake. He then returns the favor, and Charles opens his mouth obligingly, even going so far as to lick it from Erik’s fingers before he can retreat. For a moment, the reception seems to fade away into a blur of noise as Erik’s thumb traces his lower lip, his eyes dark and thoughtful. Charles rather thinks he’d like to kiss him, but before he can move, Erik’s ducking in towards him slowly, giving Charles plenty of time to pull away.

Erik’s mouth is firm but careful, less chaste than their kiss at the altar, but still not quite enough for Charles, who when drinking, becomes horridly affectionate (or so Raven has often told him.) Charles pushes back into it more forcefully, perhaps a little lacking in grace, his tongue tracing Erik’s lips, which part obligingly to let him in, his movements far more deliberate and precise than Charles’. He’s an awfully good kisser, Charles thinks. He’d rather like to try this when he’s a little better coordinated, and a little less weighed down by champagne.

The whistles and catcalls crash back in like the tide. He pulls away from Erik, grinning, noting the amusement on his husband’s—his _husband’s_ —mouth. Still feeling a little dazed, Charles turns back to the crowd, not yet embarrassed, though he knows it’ll catch up to him later, along with the inescapable hangover. He spots Raven, who gives him a knowing wink.

They’re ushered back to their seats, Erik remaining quiet beside him, and Charles isn’t sure if he’s deep in thought, the _tall-dark-quiet_ type, or if he’s still trying to wrap his head around Charles being a public nuisance when under the influence. Charles isn’t overly concerned either way, reaching for his glass again, which someone has been _oh so kind_ enough to refill for him.

Jean comes over to the table, Scott trailing along behind her, as though he’s being dragged along against his will. Quite probably, knowing those two.

“Jean, you look absolutely _stunning_ ,” Charles tells her, and she flushes at the compliment. She looks like a flame between her fiery hair and shimmering dress, which falls to the floor in waves of silk. Scott’s tie matches both his glasses and the detail on her neckline. As always, Charles is overcome by a distinct sense of pride at seeing these two, knowing how _far_ they’ve come over the last few years. They adamantly thank him for it, but Charles knows he was merely the tool that set them going; he showed them which foot to put forward first, and their determination carried them the rest of the way.

He turns to Erik. “Erik, I’d like to introduce you to Jean and Scott, two of my students and good friends.”

Erik nods at them. “A pleasure.”

“Are you enjoying yourself?” Jeans asks Charles, though she glances over to Erik, as though uncertain of whether she should include him in the question.

“Of course,” Charles tells her, lacing his fingers together atop the table. “The weather’s been perfect for the occasion, even by Genosha’s standards, and the reception and ceremony has been lovely. They certainly know how to put on a wedding.”

Erik says nothing, but from the corner of his eye, Charles can see him watching intently. Jean, the dear, rolls her eyes in answer.

“I didn’t ask to hear about the _weather_ , Charles”—and he still remembers the days when she used to call him _Professor,_ along with the others— “what I _meant_ was, _‘what do you think of your husband’,_ but I was trying to be subtle.”

Oh. Charles does _not_ blush, even when he hears Erik chuckle beside him “You’ve been hanging around Raven,” Charles accuses her.

Jean laughs. “No, I just know how you are.”

And it’s true, Charles knows, that as Jean’s telepathy has strengthened in recent times, that of everyone—including Raven—Jean understands him the best. She possesses an empathy that goes beyond her years. It’s been an unsettling experience for Charles, who is so used to understanding everyone else’s needs and caring for them, to have someone else do the same for him. Especially someone nearly half his age. Strange, but certainly refreshing, and if he’s being honest, _nice._

“If you were aiming for subtlety you could’ve just,” he gestures towards his head, “saved me the embarrassment.”

Jean smiles. “And miss such a good opportunity?” _I thought it better to be mindful of the present company,_ she says in his mind. _I didn’t want to be rude, and you know how terrible I am at having two conversations at once._ Indeed, Charles does know. He’s rather good at it himself, but for a lower level telepath like Jean, who is much stronger with her telekinesis, it’s difficult to multitask.

 _Of course,_ he tells her, thanking her for her consideration towards Erik. Her decision was fortunate, given Erik’s inherent sentiments toward telepaths. Aloud he says, “He’s alright I suppose,” and gives Erik a sly glance. “Though I’ve already decided that if we end up getting a divorce I’m taking his mother with me.”

Erik’s lips tilt up as he shakes his head. “I get the impression that she’d be all too eager to abandon me in favor of running away with you.”

Charles laughs. “She is delightful. Have you met her yet, Jean? I think you’d like her. Do say hello if you get a chance.”

Jean nods with a smile. “I’ll leave you two alone now. Enjoy the rest of you evening.” _Keep me posted,_ she tells Charles in his mind. He nods at her, sipping the last of his champagne as he watches her wander off, Scott trailing behind as her silent shadow.

“You taught them at University?” Erik asks, also watching them weave through the crowded tables.

“Not exactly. I do, uh, _tutoring_ of sorts outside of the university. It’s voluntary work, helping younger mutants control their abilities. The problem is often psychological, and my degrees combined with my mutation help me to discern what the problem is and help them work through it.”

Erik remains quiet, thoughtful for a while, and Charles stares at his empty glass unhappily. Where are the waiters when he needs them?

“What about mutations that are caused by physical complications?” Erik finally asks, leaning in to be heard over a burst of laughter from Sean’s table.

Charles shrugs. “Those are trickier to deal with, but again, what often first seems physical turns out to still be caused by a psychological issue. More often than not, fear causes a mutant to lose control of his or her abilities. While it may at first appear that they can’t control the ‘off’ switch so to speak, it’s generally fear that leads to unpredictability in a mutant’s gift. In cases such as Scott’s where his mutation doesn’t switch _off_ at all, then Hank and I work to find an alternate solution. Scott’s glasses allow him to contain his power without suppressing it. He can still use his mutation as necessary by removing them.”

Erik’s expression is unreadable, his gaze unwavering as he looks at Charles. Charles would very much like to know what he’s thinking, and once again feels a pang as he remembers Erik’s wishes. _One step at a time, Charles_ , Raven would say.

One of the television crew comes up to them then. “We’re wrapping up the evening shortly,” she explains, “We’d like to do some separate interviews before we send you off though. Charles first, just out in the foyer.”

Charles nods, the room spinning as he stands. He grips the edge of the table as his head rights itself, giving the attendant a reassuring smile. “Stood a bit quickly I think.” The alcohol had certainly creeped up on him, his tolerance certainly not quite what it was during his graduate years.

He gives Erik a parting glance, who in turn gives him a very small nod. Charles follows the shorter woman out into the foyer.

 

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Later, Charles is having a rather difficult time staying awake in the back of the limousine. He isn’t sure what time it is; late, judging by the emptiness of the streets. Erik is quiet on the other side of the backseat, gazing out the window. Charles tips his head back, closing his eyes for a moment.

The next thing he knows Erik is gently shaking his shoulder. “Were here, Charles.”

Charles blinks, looking around with bleary eyes to find that the car has indeed come to a standstill. Normally, that in itself would have woken Charles, but he’s still feeling weighed down and sluggish.

Erik gets out with a huff while Charles tries to pull himself together, and then the door opens and Erik is there undoing his seatbelt and helping him out the car. Charles staggers a bit, leaning heavily on Erik. Fortunately, his husband doesn’t seem to mind.

“I’m terribly sorry, I never used to be such a lightweight.”

Erik puts an arm around him, half-carrying him towards their hotel. “I’d hardly call you a lightweight. You had almost a dozen drinks just at the reception.”

“There was a few in the limo on the way too, blame Raven. She knows champagne knocks me off my feet.”

“Yes, I think that was probably the point.”

Charles just gives a grunt in response, squinting as they enter the blindingly lit foyer of the hotel. Well, blinding to him anyway, Erik doesn’t seem too bothered by it.

Erik retrieves their key at the front desk, and Charles is distantly aware of the small camera crew following them. Will they _ever_ leave them alone? Rather the point of the exercise, he supposes, but he’d _really_ like to just be left alone, preferably in bed, in the dark, perhaps wrapped up in his husband who is blissfully warm up against his side. Charles leans into him more, cheek mushing up against Erik’s chest.

“Come on,” Erik tells him, pulling him along when the elevator reaches their floor. He doesn’t sound annoyed exactly, though Charles distantly thinks he ought to be. But _oh_ he’s so wonderfully warm, and Charles just wants to crawl into Erik’s jacket alongside him. Surely there’s enough room for them both in there.

“ _Charles_ ,” Erik says, staggering a little as Charles burrows in more. Erik sighs—again, not exactly annoyed, maybe just exasperated in the way people are when they have to deal with a toddler that’s making things unnecessarily difficult. Charles knows he’s a great deal bigger than a toddler, but he doesn’t move to pull away from Erik either.

They eventually make it to their door, Erik opening it with the key, though Charles wonders why he didn’t just unlock it with his groovy mutation. Maybe he has good ethics. If so, that’s a positive tick under Erik’s name for Charles.

“Goodnight,” he hears Erik tell someone, and the door shuts firmly behind them. The camera crew, Charles realizes later when Erik lowers him to sit on the edge of the bed. His thought process seems awfully slow. Why is Erik pulling his suit jacket off when it’s so cold?

“Work _with_ me, Charles. You can’t sleep in your suit.”

Charles nods, eyes drifting closed, his limbs remaining slack as Erik pulls his arms out of his jacket. Charles remains distantly aware as his shoes, shirt and pants follow. He should probably be alarmed by the fact that he’s being stripped, but Erik leaves his undershirt and briefs on, which is soon followed by the sound of sheets being pulled back. Charles opens his eyes a sliver as Erik returns. Strong arms move him up the bed, pulling the covers over him once he’s settled.

“Where are you going?” Charles mumbles, one eye cracked open as Erik moves to the doorway of the bedroom.

“I’ll take the couch.”

 _Why?_ “Don’t be stupid,” Charles croaks, shifting down further under the quilt. “You’ll get cold. Come here, I won’t do anything.”

Erik seems to hesitate, hovering in the doorway, and Charles closes his eyes again. A moment later—though it could be several minutes, with Charles’ current sense of time—he hears the rustling of fabric, and then a weight settles on the other side of the bed. Charles instinctively moves towards the warmth.

“I thought you weren’t going to try anything?” Erik almost sounds amused.

“’m not,” Charles mumbles in response, curling up against Erik’s length. “You’re warm.” He doesn’t feel any further explanation is required.

Erik does nothing, lying stiffly. Charles feels rather than hears him let out a long exhale, and then Erik is turning towards him, arms folding around Charles.

“Go to sleep,” Erik tells him.

Charles is too far gone to reply.


	3. Paris

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, an update at last. It's reasonably long at least! Mutant husbands go on their honeymoon. Thanks for the kudos and comments so far! Also, apologies for any editing fails, mistakes are all my own. I'll give it another look over in the next couple of days.

Charles greets the morning with a muffled groan, eyes screwed tightly against the light as his head throbs horridly. There’s an unpleasant taste in his mouth, but the bed is warm and soft, so he’s reluctant to move. Unfortunately for Charles, it seems that last night he chose to take home someone that is significantly less considerate of his condition.

“You can’t stay in bed all day,” a morning-rough voice tells him. There’s an attractive lilt to it, the accent indistinguishable. He must’ve chosen well from the crowds at the bar. There’s a distinct lack of ache in his backside though. Perhaps they only sucked each other off; that would account for the taste in his mouth this morning. He can’t really recall it though.

Slowly, Charles blinks his eyes open, twisting under the sheets to move into an upright position. As his eyes adjust to the brightly lit room, he takes in the unfamiliar décor, though he’s quick to realize he’s in a hotel room. The owner of the lovely voice comes out of the bathroom with a glass of water and Charles blinks a few times as a wave of clarity comes over him.

Oh. _Oh._

“Here,” his husband says, offering Charles the glass.

“I don’t suppose I dreamt up last night and you’re just a rather lovely specimen that I managed to pick up at a bar?” Charles asks as he accepts the water. He also takes the painkillers that are offered directly after.

Erik looks amused at least. “You’d rather not be married to a stranger on national television?”

Charles snorts. “I do this at least once a semester. Nothing like a spontaneous marriage to spice things up. I’m afraid you’re five marriages too late; this is old hat to me now.”

Erik grins, showing almost all of his teeth, and Charles can see how it may be unnerving to some. Charles rather likes it though. “This is the second time, myself.”

Charles isn’t sure if he’s being serious or not, but he laughs it off all the same. “No camera crews knocking on the door just yet?”

Erik shakes his head, moving to perch on the end of the bed. “We have an hour. I thought you might like to freshen up before they start throwing the interviews at us.” Erik’s hair is still damp from his own shower.

“Right, then.” Charles places his glass on the side table before swinging his feet out of bed. He notices then that he’s only in his boxers. He blinks at his bare legs. “Umm…” He gives Erik a questioning look.

“I didn’t think you’d appreciate waking up in a suit. You were hardly in a position to undress yourself last night.” Charles is quick to recognize the defensive tone. Raven uses it often enough.

Charles holds his hands up in surrender. “I didn’t say a word.”

“You were thinking it.”

Charles can’t help the burst of laughter that escapes him. “I thought I was the telepath here? Perhaps I misread the script?”

Erik seems only mildly amused. Charles remembers too late their argument the night before around his mutation. Still, Erik doesn’t seem overly bothered by the reference. At least, Charles doesn’t _think_ he is. It’s bloody hard to tell without using his telepathy. He rather thinks this arrangement is going to be like learning to walk again.

“Right, shower,” Charles says, mostly to himself. He digs out his clothes from his luggage, which he assumes was brought up before they’d arrived the night before. _Production assistants or house elves?_ Another adjustment he has to become used to with this arrangement. Still, as he steps under the hot spray of the shower, he can’t help but wonder if this was all worth it. From what he’s seen of Erik, he’s still hopeful. He only hopes they can iron out some of the kinks along the way. He wonders what Erik’s kinks are, if any. No, far too soon for any of that.

Charles manages to have himself presentable by the time the camera crew arrives. Erik is reclined on the bed with a newspaper when he emerges, so Charles answers the door with a resigned sigh.

“All ready for today?” their PA asks them. She’s dressed in the same black attire as the rest of the team behind her, the color broken only by the company’s white logo stitched onto the cropped sleeves.

Charles offers her a smile. “What’s on the agenda for today?”

“The honeymoon. Plane leaves in two hours.”

It’s fortunate then that the pair of them are already packed and ready to go. A black sedan is waiting for them outside, followed by a van for the camera crew and PA. Charles follows Erik over to the car, hesitating only briefly when Erik holds the door open for him before sliding into the seat. The door shuts before Charles can reach for it, and a moment later, Erik opens the other side and joins him in the back. Charles ponders over the gesture while he watches Erik buckle himself in, and its only when he’s caught staring that he quickly looks away. Erik doesn’t comment.

The airport is only a short drive from the hotel, but after staring out the window for a few minutes, Charles decides he should make an attempt at small talk.

“Where do you think they might be sending us?”

Erik looks away from the window to give Charles a shrug. “Why didn’t you just use your telepathy to find out?”

Charles frowns. “Because its highly unethical. Just because I have the ability to do something, it doesn’t mean that I should.”

“What’s the point of being a mutant if you can’t use your power?”

Charles almost huffs in exasperation. “I recall only last night that you were rather opposed to my telepathy, and now you’re saying that I should use it? That’s rather contradictory isn’t it?”

Erik’s expression tightens into something that appears almost stony. “I said not to use it on me. Not that you shouldn’t use it altogether.”

“What, so your privacy is more important than that of the crew? You should be the only exception to the rule?”

Erik huffs, though it isn’t entirely an agitated sound. It sounds almost … defeated. “I’m not personally opposed to telepathy. Emma uses it freely with me, although she knows and respects my boundaries. I didn’t want to tell you, but I suppose this issue won’t be resolved until I do.”

He pauses for a moment, staring forward at the road ahead. Charles wonders what the driver makes of all this. He supposes it doesn’t matter, considering the small camera attached to the rearview mirror will be broadcasting this conversation for the whole of Genosha to see later.

Erik turns to look at him again, and his eyes are the most expressive Charles has seen them, aside from perhaps when he’d first met him at the end of the aisle. “I have a lot of demons in my past, Charles. I didn’t want you to see them and then pull out of the experiment before we had the chance to make something of this.”

“Oh.” Not Charles’ most articulate response, but he’s caught off-guard by the concession. “I usually only pick up on surface thoughts unless I make an effort to go deeper.”   

“Just the same, I’d rather wait before we cross that threshold.”

Charles nods. “I’ll respect your wishes until you tell me otherwise.” As frustrating as it is for Charles, he likewise wants to make a fair go of this arrangement. He’d hate to endanger it by venturing where he clearly isn’t yet welcome. Nonetheless, the knowledge that he might one day be allowed to access Erik’s mind gives him a small shred of hope.

The car arrives then, pulling up in one of the taxi zones to drop them off. Two crew members help to unload their luggage and Charles accepts his with a smile before pulling it behind him on its rollers. Erik waits for him to catch up as they follow their PA into the airport. The camera crew trails not far behind with their own equipment and baggage.

Charles and Erik are checked in first by the PA, their belongings handed over to be weighed and loaded onto the plane. With that taken care of, they’re led through customs before emerging out into the waiting area where they can see the waiting airplanes.

Once seated, they’re finally given their boarding passes. Charles opens his eagerly, eyes flying across the printed letters.

“We’re going to _Paris?_ ” Charles says gleefully.

“Bit clichéd isn’t it?”

“Oh don’t be a spoil sport. There’s plenty to do in France, and its lovely this time of year.”

“You’ve been there before?” Erik asks.

Charles shrugs. “For a weekend. When I was younger, my father had to travel to Paris for a business meeting, so he took Mum and I along with him. We didn’t get to do much, but the experience was still nice. I haven’t had the chance to go back since, though I’ve always wanted to.”

Erik nods. “I spent two weeks there myself for business. I can’t say I spent much of that time doing sight-seeing or visiting restaurants.” His expression turns thoughtful, as though remembering something slightly unpleasant, and Charles once again wishes he could dip into his thoughts.

Twenty minutes later they’re boarded onto the plane. They’re in business class, so it’s not entirely unpleasant. Fortunate, given they’re stuck there for an eleven-hour flight. Charles can’t see any cameras hidden away, and the crew is nowhere in sight. At least they’ll have some semblance of privacy while up in the air.

The crew runs through the usual pre-departure procedure, and shortly thereafter, the plane takes to the runway and they’re up and away. Charles has the window seat, and he watches as the buildings below grow smaller, the land soon giving way to sea. Beside him, Erik procures a tablet, and begins scrolling through his apps. Charles follows his lead, pulling out a remarkably well-worn novel. He turns to the dog-eared page, quickly picking up again from where he’d left it a few days earlier.

“Judging by the cover, I’d say you’ve read that before?” Erik asks him as he turns the page.

Charles grins. “ _The Once and Future King_ is much like an old friend. I doubt I’ll ever tire of coming back to it.”

Erik nods, a small smile pulling at his lips. “A friend once told me to read it. I haven’t yet had the opportunity.”

“Oh, I highly recommend it. You’re missing out on a literary gem.”

Erik looks amused, but says no more, turning his attention back to the tablet. Charles resumes his reading.

Later, the refreshment trolley comes around. Erik takes a coffee, black, while Charles orders a tea with milk and sugar.

“How very British of you,” Erik remarks.

Charles gives him a dubious look. “Plenty of people drink tea all over the globe. I wouldn’t say its exclusively British.”

“No, but combined with your accent, it does paint quite the picture.”

Charles flushes a little, and takes a mouthful of tea. “Speaking of accents, I can’t quite place yours. It sounds German, but its diluted. From your time in Genosha?”

Erik shrugs. “I suppose there’s no way to pin it down. I grew up in Germany, which is why you can detect the lilt, but I travelled a lot before settling in Genosha. I spent a couple of years in Ireland, the same in America. A few months here and there across Europe, the UK. I guess you could say I’m a _bitzer_.”

Charles smiles at him. “I’d hardly compare you to a mixed-breed mutt.”

Erik shrugs. “What about you, only England before Genosha?”

“Actually, I spent much of my later years in Westchester. I lived in England when I was younger, but we moved over to America for my father’s work. We travelled back and forth quite a bit between the two, so I never really had the chance to shake the accent.”

“Yet your sister sounds American?”

Charles stares down at his tea, rotating the paper cup in his hands and watching its contents swirl with the movement. “She’s an adopted sister, technically. It was shortly after we moved to Westchester. You’d never know if it weren’t for the difference in accent.”

“You’re close, then?”

Charles nods. “Even when I had nothing, I had Raven. She was the first other mutant I’d met, and I still remember how it felt to realize that I _wasn’t alone._ She was the one that convinced me to go on the show.”

“I did wonder about that,” Erik admits, his gaze resting heavily on Charles. His eyes are a stunning color, caught somewhere between blue and green today. Erik is one of the rare few that could be deemed an intent listener. Charles feels both fortunate and uneasy to be given that kind of concentrated attention.

“I suppose it’s a fair question for any of the brides or grooms to consider,” Charles says thoughtfully. “What could possibly bring someone to marry a stranger under such circumstances? Arranged marriages are not uncommon in numerous cultures, but voluntarily entering into such an arrangement where a partner is selected by supposed _love experts_ is certainly outside the norm. It does raise a few questions.”

“And the answer to those?” Erik asks, his expression mostly passive, though his eyes betray his interest.

Charles shrugs. “I’ve had a bad run with relationships, I suppose. Well, when I’ve had the time for them. Studying, teaching, looking after Raven, it left me with barely enough time to look after myself let alone schedule in the time to maintain a relationship. On the few occasions that I did make the time, well … it’s difficult to find a partner that’s willing to accept my mutation.”

Charles doesn’t miss the way that Erik tenses a little at the admission. He suppresses a sigh, thinking of how likely it is that the same obstacle will come between their own relationship. Even so, he doesn’t stop.

“Many of them were mutants themselves. But even so, they seemed to forget about my telepathy at times, probably because it wasn’t something they could see. Even after adamantly saying that they didn’t mind me using it, they’d grow agitated every time I answered something they’d thought before they’d said it. Or if I projected to them accidentally. Or the opposite would happen, and I’d spend all my energy shielding to block out their thoughts which left me tired all the time. In the end, I gave up trying. I just decided to stay alone, focus on my career. Raven bullied me into giving this a try. She thought these ‘experts’ would find a solution to my problem.” _Fat lot of good they’ve done so far,_ Charles can’t help but think bitterly.

Erik remains silent, his eyes finally leaving Charles to stare ahead at the seat in front of him. Charles seizes the opportunity to admire the faint ginger scruff that’s visible around Erik’s jawline, illuminated where the sunlight catches it.

 “I suppose for me it was a combination of things. My mother constantly harasses me about why I still haven’t married. I used to dismiss it as just being something mothers do, but after a while, I could tell it was worrying her. _You’re not getting any younger,_ she’d say. She isn’t either. I think she wants to see me settled down and happy before it’s too late. Emma, my friend you met at the wedding, knows one of the producers. She encouraged me to give it a try, and well, here I am.”

Charles hums thoughtfully in way of response. He certainly hadn’t overlooked the relationship between Erik and Edie. It was obvious even to an outsider that he held her in high regard, and that their relationship remained a close one, even well into adulthood. Charles almost envies him that, having lacked that kind of connection with his own parents.

They lapse back into a comfortable silence for the remainder of the trip, Charles dozing off for the few hours remaining before their arrival in France. Erik gently nudges him awake as the flight attendant announces their imminent arrival, helping Charles to pull his seat back upright and put his belt on. Charles, sleepy and disorientated, gives very little protest against Erik’s help.

Their PA and camera crew rejoins them them after they’ve collected their luggage. A car is already waiting for them outside the airport. Their belongings are loaded into the back with impressive efficiency, and it feels as though Charles has hardly blinked before they’re on their way to their hotel.

Well, it turns out to be a small apartment. It’s rather nice, actually. They’re a few floors up, and the view outside of the city is remarkable. Dumping his bags at the foot of their bed, Charles heads straight out onto the balcony, unable to help a pleased sigh as the sunshine touches his skin. After being stuffed into a plane for nearly half the day, the fresh air is welcome.

“Not a bad view,” Erik says as he joins him outside.

“Still think its clichéd?”

“Yes.”

Charles snorts. “Of course.”

They stay out there for a few more minutes, wordlessly watching the goings on below them. Finally, Erik breaks the silence. “I’ll take first shower if you’re planning to stay out here for a bit longer.”

Charles glances over at him. “Be my guest. Do we have plans for this evening?”

“A stroll through the city and dinner.”

Charles nods. “That sounds nice. Let me know when you’ve finished and I’ll freshen up.”

Erik gives him a small, closed lipped smile and heads back inside. With a sigh, Charles turns back to the view, leaning against the railings on his forearms.

With space alone to think, his mind is left to wander. He supposes that so far, the experience hasn’t been too unpleasant. Tiring perhaps, and not without a bit of drama along the way, but it’s by no means a disaster yet.

And Erik, well, he’s intriguing. He’s certainly no open book, though the air of mystery is only drawing Charles in further. He’s looking forward to learning more about Erik in any case. He only hopes that Erik will allow it.

“Shower’s free,” Erik calls, pulling him away from the view. Charles finds he doesn’t mind the interruption at all. Not as he turns around to find Erik leaning in the doorway, bare chested with a towel slung around his shoulders, hair still damp and curling at the ends. Good God, how is Charles supposed to think rationally around _that_?

“Um, yes sure, of course. I, uh, thank you.” He looks away as he feels heat rising into his cheeks, his social grace lying somewhere on the street below, clearly having just jumped ship over the balcony railing. _Excellent work, Charles,_ he thinks. Erik will surely be most impressed by his eloquence.

Erik looks vaguely amused when Charles looks back, but heads inside without comment. Charles quickly darts past him to his bags, where he fishes out something appropriate to wear before heading into the bathroom. The air is still damp with steam from Erik’s shower, and it’s rather novel, to be sharing a bathroom with someone again. It’s certainly been a while; it’s not as though he’d ever _lingered_ after having a quick romp with a stranger.

When he comes out, feeling remarkably better after freshening up, Erik is in the adjoining living room, sitting on one of the couches. “You’re ready?” he asks, looking up as Charles enters the room.

Charles nods. “Where are we heading?”

Erik rises, heading over to him slowly with a sly smile on his lips that leaves Charles feeling nervous. “I guess we’ll find out when we get there.”

The camera crew joins them outside a short while later. They’re subtler than what you’d see on a Hollywood set, the cameras far smaller and more discreet. It’s still annoying, Charles has to admit, that they’re a constant presence looming in the background. He knows it comes part and parcel of the show, but things would certainly be a great deal easier without the added distraction. He can tell even without prying that it annoys Erik even more so.

A sudden idea strikes him, and Charles pulls the PA aside a few minutes into their walk. She signals for the cameras to stop rolling as they pull away from the group. He quickly explains his idea to her, and she thinks it over for a moment before agreeing. “I can’t see the harm. It’ll give a better recording if anything.”

Giddy, Charles rejoins Erik who is standing out of earshot, watching them quizzically.

“I have an idea. I think you’ll like it, but I don’t think you’ll necessarily approve of the means or method,” Charles begins.

Erik studies him, his expression curious. “I’m listening.”

“The cameras are awfully distracting, aren’t they?” Erik gives the waiting crew a disapproving glance by way of answer. “Well, if you’d like, I can alter our awareness to block them out. We’ll move around them if they get in the way, otherwise we won’t be able to see or hear them.” Charles has done it a few times before, making himself disappear from other people’s perception. It’s a very effective means of escaping conflict.

Erik’s eyebrows have raised. Charles shifts nervously on the spot under his stare. He can’t tell if the reaction is one of surprise or scandal. “You can do that?” Erik asks, finally.

Charles swallows and nods. “I can, but the only thing is that I’d have to go into your mind to change your perception. If you aren’t comfortable—”

“Do it,” Erik cuts him off. Charles blinks at him, mouth still open mid-sentence. “Anything’s better than dealing with them.” He looks at the crew pointedly again, disapproval radiating from him in waves, even through Charles’s shields. Charles almost feels sympathetic for them. They are, after all, just doing their jobs.

Their PA is obviously explaining the concept of his telepathic trick to the crew, to keep them aware that they’ll become hazards, even if Charles plans to keep a subconscious awareness of them that ought to prevent any awkward run-ins.

“Very well. Are you ready?”

Erik nods and Charles brings two fingers up to his temple. He came up with the idea to allow others to be aware of when he’s using his telepathy. He has little use for the gesture himself, but a visual aid seems like a good way to display his otherwise invisible mutation. He doesn’t need Erik knowing that he can do without it. The exercise is, after all, about promoting trust.  

It doesn’t take long to access the necessary part of Erik’s brain and make some adjustments. With that done, Charles looks inward at his own mind and makes the same changes there. They’re easy enough to do, and if the PA needs to communicate with him, he’s included a ‘safe word’ of sorts for her to say to him directly that will undo the alterations.

Otherwise for now, it’s just Charles and Erik in the street and the false privacy is bliss. Erik is regarding him thoughtfully, and Charles gives him a questioning look in return.

“Thank you,” Erik says, and he sounds as though he’s admitting something.

Charles nods, gives him a small smile. “Shall we?” he says, and gestures with a sweeping flourish of his hand.

Together they wander through the streets of Paris, enjoying the late afternoon sun and the many sights on offer. The buildings here are very different to Genosha, and Charles admires the architecture with wide eyes. Whenever something catches his eye, he points it out enthusiastically to Erik, who in turn looks amused but takes a moment to look at the sight nonetheless, occasionally giving comment.

The end up at a small restaurant, which has a menu in both French and English. It’s quiet and the atmosphere is pleasant, with small, pastel posies on the little tables. They aren’t underdressed for the occasion at least, most of the other patrons wearing neat casual. A couple nearby is speaking fluent French, apparently locals, and Charles takes a moment to listen to them, finding the flowing words soothing.

And he _does_ need soothing, because he’ll admit that he’s nervous. Even though they’ve spent the afternoon wandering around the city, and they’ve _had their own_ _wedding for goodness sake_ , this is the first occasion that’s actually felt like a proper date. So, effectively, this is their first date. Therefore, Charles is nervous.

When the waiter comes, he orders wine, though he doesn’t know what Erik would prefer, so he throws him a quick questioning glance.

“I’ll drink anything, though I prefer white,” Erik says helpfully.

“Right. The dry chardonnay then.” He repeats the order to the waiter, using his telepathy to smooth the way. After the waiter returns with their bottle and fills their glasses, Erik proceeds to place the order for their meals in more than passable French.

“You seem to be awfully good at speaking a second language,” Charles remarks as he reaches for his glass. Erik mirrors him, and tips it forward until their rims clink together.

“Here’s to us,” Erik says, and tips his glass back. Charles mimics him. “I’m fluent in a few different languages,” Erik proceeds to answer after placing his glass back on the table. “I picked most of it up quite easily while I travelled.”

Charles regards him thoughtfully. “A secondary mutation, perhaps? What languages are you fluent in?”

Erik’s mouth quirks up as he leans back in his chair. “Perhaps. Some people just have a knack for it. English and German are my primary languages, but I also speak decent Yiddish, French, Spanish and Russian.”

“My, that’s quite impressive,” Charles says with raised eyebrows.

“Are you fluent in anything other than English?”

Charles hums thoughtfully. “Yes and no. I can’t speak anything off the top of my head beyond a few vague phrases that I know here and there, but I can still communicate with people that speak other languages. My telepathy allows me to access their language center and use it for translations on both ends.”

“If I was to speak in German, you’d understand what I’m saying?”

“Only if I was accessing your mind. It’s a useful quirk of my mutation, but it has its limits.”

“What about photographic memory or other little hidden talents? Can your telepathy do anything else?”

For someone so averse to his telepathy, Erik seems awfully interested in it. Although Erik _did_ allow him to use it earlier, to alter his perception of the crew. Charles isn’t prepared to push for access to his thoughts though, not after Erik’s admission on the way to the airport. Charles knows it’ll be a practice in patience; slowly easing Erik into the idea of it until he becomes comfortable.

“I can sort through my memories if I focus on them, like accessing an archive. But as is the same with any mind, the memories can become faded or broken with age, like photographs that are exposed to the elements. We generally don’t realize what memories we have until something prompts us to remember them. I can access such memories and pull them forward.”

Erik looks intrigued by the concept, mulling it over like the wine on his tongue. Their meals arrive then, interrupting any potential train of thought.

“Oh, this smells divine,” Charles gushes, taking a deep inhale of the pleasant aroma. Erik is also eyeing his plate appreciatively.

The conversation dwindles down to small talk between mouthfuls of food, but Charles finds that he’s enjoying himself immensely. Once their plates are empty and cleared away, they linger only briefly to finish the wine.

The sun is skimming the horizon by the time they step out onto the street. They wander the streets leisurely as the skies grow dark and the city quickly becomes illuminated by artificial lights. The crowds have lessened somewhat, but there are still plenty of couples walking around, many linked by their hands. Their steps eventually take them to the river Seine, where they head onto an empty boardwalk over the water, stopping hallway to lean on the railing.

“This is lovely,” Charles says softly, looking out across strip of reflected light. They’re in a quieter part of the city, the Eiffel Tower visible over the clustered buildings, protruding from the landscape like a giant beacon. There’s a light breeze, but the temperature is above mild. It’s almost perfect, Charles thinks.

Erik hums beside him, shifting on his feet and he’s much closer than what Charles had expected, their elbows brushing.

“Erik, I—” he starts, turning his head to look at him. His voice trails off as he realizes how close their faces are together, his eyes flicking from Erik’s dark gaze down to the light stubble on his jaw and the curve of his mouth. Charles licks his lips and watches Erik follow the movement with his eyes. Then, Erik is leaning in and their mouths are gently pressing together.

It’s soft and sweet, their movements unhurried and almost tentative. Compared to few kisses they’d shared at the wedding, this one feels much more like it’s just for _them_. There’s no friends or family to consider, no expectations to uphold. Just the simple touch of lips that seem to be saying _hello_ , _I’m here with you._

Charles is glad that he’s still leaning on the railing, feeling slightly dazed as they pull apart. Erik’s eyes are soft, more open than Charles has seen them yet. He’s watching him closely with something like fondness. Charles gives him a small smile before leaning in to give Erik a quick peck on the corner of his mouth. He turns back to the river then, Erik bumping up against his side.

Perhaps there’s some truth to be found in Paris being the _city of love._ Or, Charles thinks as Erik takes his hand on the way back, maybe it’s all just a matter of the company.

 

A/N: Snaps from the honeymoon!


End file.
